Late Nights
by GoingVintage
Summary: When he leaves, Lois cooks. It's just a thing she does. It helps to keep her from worrying about him, because frankly, she knows that obsessing over his safety is dumb. A short Clois fictlet from the Man of Steel universe. Oneshot.


_**Since I'm probably never going to revisit this to finish what I started (because I'm working on my original manuscript), I decided to post this short Lois and Clark/Man of Steel fanfiction story I wrote recently.**_

When he leaves, Lois cooks. It's just a thing she does. It helps to keep her from worrying about him, because frankly, she knows that obsessing over his safety is _dumb. _He's invincible. He's indestructible. It's not like he's going to break an arm or come home cut up and bleeding. But still, every time he leaves, she can't help but wonder if this is _the _time when he discovers that he's not unbreakable, that there is something out there in the world that can do him harm. That's what makes her bite her nails, pace back and forth across her hardwood floor, the sound of the raggedy flip-flops she wears clopping loudly in the silence. Her nervous energy bubbles up until she thinks she's going to scream unless she finds an outlet. And so she cooks.

…

Clark comes home well after 3am. He lands on the roof, carefully dons the "normal" clothes he keeps stashed in a trash bag behind one of the water tanks, and slips through the door and down the stairwell to the 14th floor. When he lets himself into Lois' place (because he still struggles with the fact that it's really _theirs _now), he expects the lights to be off. He's anticipating peeling everything off and climbing between the sheets. Lois usually sleeps on her stomach, her arms sprawled on her sides, and he's nearly vibrating with anticipation at the thought of pressing all that soft skin against his body. But when he opens the door, the lights are on. The TV is blaring in the living room, and he can smell chocolate. He's never really been a fan of chocolate – he prefers strawberry _everything_ – so when he walks into the kitchen and sees her icing a chocolate cake with the same look on her face that she gets when she's grilling a source, he's more than a little surprised. "Lois?"

Her head shoots up and just like _that, _her scowl slides into a smile. The spatula clatters to the countertop as she races over to him, her arms around him in seconds. He's a little stunned at her welcome (but he's certainly not complaining), so it takes a second for him to wrap his arms around him and hug her back. "Lois? Angel? What's wrong?"

She pulls back and places her hands on either side of his cheeks. Her hands are a little cold, so he instinctively cups his over them to share his warmth. (Which is one of the things she says she loves most about him - she's always cold and he's impervious to the pressure of her cold feet against his calves in the middle of the night.) She smiles, shakes her head. "Nothing's wrong. I'm just glad you're home. Let me put up this cake and then we'll go to bed. We need sleep!"

Clark just chuckles as she lets go of him. She knows that he doesn't need sleep. He's perfectly able to function without sleep. The need for sleep is a _human_ weakness. He sleeps because he _likes _it, not because he has to. He loves the fact that he can close his eyes and let his mind shut down for a few hours. Cutting everything off - the cries, the sirens, the murmur of voices from the other apartments, the intensity of the _need _everywhere around him - even for a few hours, is one of the ways he copes with his abilities.

He leans against the fridge to wait, his ankles crossed and his fingers tapping along with a the beat he hears from a cab fourteen stories below. Lois, as usual, is a flurry of activity. Her hair flies out behind her as she moves, putting dirty dishes here, placing clean dishes there. Her cheeks are flushed and she's worrying her lower lip between her teeth. Clark knows he's going to have to soothe her tonight. He usually has to after he leaves her with very little notice, even though he's explained a hundred times that nothing's going to happen to him.

A few minutes pass and Clark finds that his patience is waning. Even though Lois is quick, she's not quick enough. He wants to take her to bed. _Now_.

Instead of waiting any longer, he pushes off the fridge, and with lightning speed, straightens the kitchen. In two seconds flat, everything is where it belongs and the stainless steel countertops are gleaming. Clark shoots a satisfied glance around the room before dipping his head and turning toward the sound of the frustrated sigh behind him. Lois is scowling. "I hate when you do that!"

Clark only smirks. "Then you should learn to move faster." He darts across the room and takes her into his arms. "C'mon, Lo, let's go to bed."

Even though her brows are still furrowed, she goes willingly into his ams. He picks her up and then they're both off the floor, hovering a few feet above the wood as he swoops them into the bedroom. He stalls above the bed before Lois lets go and falls into the plush pillow top, her laughter ringing out. Clark looks over his shoulder and blows the door shut before lowering himself onto the bed. Lois arms wrap around him again and, as his name slips from her lips like a prayer, he shuts out the rest of Metropolis.


End file.
